she left me without warning
by coinoperatedbecca
Summary: Grief, in five stages.
1. anger

Disclaimer: I don't own TKaM or the song in which this story is based (Crossing Muddy Waters cover by I'm With Her).

A/N: I'm still going to continue the multi-chaptered fic I started before, but I need to get my mind straight and figure out where I was going with it. This will be short, five chapters to represent the five stages of grief (not in order), and is standalone from my other fics.

" _Left me in my tears to drown_ _  
_ _She left a baby daughter_ _  
_ _Now the river's wide and deep and brown_ _  
_ _She's crossing muddy waters"_

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

Jem had tried to kill the baby only days after their mother passed. Alexandra almost did not believe her eyes when she first came upon the scene. First, there came Jean Louise's usual cries for her mother that seemed to never end since Atticus first found his wife dead on the porch. Then, all she heard were muffled screams and sobs coming from the children's room.

She had been preparing a plate of dinner for Jack, who had just arrived for the funeral services, and had thrown it on the ground, not paying attention to the glass shattering and food splaying itself upon the floor as she ran to the room. She could hear Jack behind her, and that's when she saw what was happening.

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

Jem was on top of the baby (though at two years old, Alexandra was beginning to wonder if they should stop referring to Jean Louise as a baby), his face red and furious and wet with tears, and he was sobbing as he pressed a pillow over his sisters' face. In response, Jean Louise was thrashing and screaming from under the force of her brother.

At first, Alexandra froze in the doorway, her hands pressed to her throat—almost as if _she_ was the one being suffocated. She almost didn't feel Jack pushing past her, causing her to collide into the wall. With wide eyes, she watched as her brother nearly threw their nephew off of their niece, hurled the pillow across the room, and held the now-sobbing Jean Louise against his chest.

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

She nearly collapsed onto the floor in order to get at eye-level with her nephew. His chest was heaving in and out rapidly, his cheeks were red and hot to the touch, slick with tears that seemed to never end, his breaths were short and jagged and desperate, and his eyes were clenched tight—almost as if he was trying to stop the tears from falling.

She took his small head in her hands. "Jeremy," her voice was rough, and sounded as though she was miles away. "Jeremy, _why did you do that_?"

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead strained sobs came out.

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

She could feel his entire body shuddering with each attempt to stop himself from crying. She wiped at his cheeks with her thumbs – something her own mother had done in a distant past—even though she doubted it was comforting. "Jem," her voice was softer now, she attempted to calm herself in order to calm him. "Jem, why did you do that?"

He inhaled, shuddering again as he did so, but this time he didn't sob. His eyes still clenched shut, his wavering voice said: "she keeps cryin' for mama."

Alexandra inhaled sharply. She supposed perhaps she should have Jack address the situation on his own. He was much more comforting, and plus, the children preferred _him_ over her any day. She was beginning to realize she probably wasn't the most approachable person.

With desperation in her eyes, she looked to Jack. He was on his feet now, and she was absolutely baffled about how he was able to calm the baby so easily. While Jean Louise's face was still red and tear stained, she wasn't crying nor gasping for air anymore. She was resting her head on Jack's shoulder, perfectly content while Jack gently swayed from one foot to another in order to keep her placated.

She was amazed. Even with her own child, Alexandra lacked the ability to calm children that quickly.

"Well, she misses her," Alexandra finally said, visibly uncomfortable.

Jem's eyes shot open, his face going a deeper shade of red. " _I_ miss her, too!" He was nearly shouting. Her eyes went back to Jack. He caught her gaze and motioned his head, as if to mentally nudge her in order to keep her talking.

"Well, I know that, sweet," she said. The boy looked furious, absolutely furious. And yet, he still let her cup his face in her hands, her thumbs softly rubbing against his temples. "But Jean Louise, she's just so little, she doesn't understand—"

"Well I don't, either!" Jem stated matter-of-factly, his lower lip quivering. "I don't understand why mama's gone, either and Jean Louise just cries for her all the time and I want her, too. _I want mama too_."

He was sobbing again, his face contorted in a mixture of despair and anger, and Alexandra didn't know what to do. It dawned on her suddenly that during the past few days they were treating Jeremy like an adult. He was told his mother would never be coming home again and was expected him to be some sort of beacon of light for his father (who was so consumed in his own grief he could barely look at his children) and to be a role model for his sister, who _needed_ him. But the boy was six, still so young, and he was expected to understand and accept that his mother would be never coming home again.

"I want mama," he sobbed again, his chest heaving in and out.

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

She gazed at her brother again, tears filling her own eyes. "Hug him," Jack mouthed, and if it were any other situation Alexandra would have been angry that he was instructing her on how to be comforting. In a quick moment, she clasped her nephew to her chest, and at that moment he completely dissolved into tears. He sobbed loudly into her chest, a muffled ' _mama'_ emerging almost every other sob. She held him tightly, as if the compression would somehow alleviate all of his pain.

After a few moments, she felt his small arms wrap around her waist.

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

 _Mama._

Later that night, when the children were calmed (well, as much as they could have been), fed, and put to their respective beds, Alexandra almost screamed at Atticus. After experiencing the sheer grief and terror of that afternoon, there was a persistent bubble of what to her felt like anger resting in her chest. She was angry the children had to go through this, she was angry that she couldn't be more help, she was angry that her brother hadn't been there to help.

For the past three days, from the moment his wife was declared dead, it was almost as if Atticus ceased to exist in his own home. He rarely ate, rarely talked, rarely communicated. After making the arrangements for Jean's burial, he locked himself in his office, doing only God knows what.

And it made Alexandra furious.

He wasn't the only one grieving, he wasn't the only one who lost Jean, and yet he remained completely isolated from his children who needed him now more than ever.

"Are you gonna dry that dish, or are you goin' to keep staring at the wall?" Jack asked, breaking the tense silence that existed between them ever since the children went to bed. "If you keep clenching your jaw like that, it's going to lock."

Forcefully, she set the plate she was washing down on the countertop, causing it to crack. "John Hale Finch," her voice was harsh again, almost shrill. "I do not need—"

"I know what you need," he said, getting up and leaving the room.

She hadn't intended on driving him away—though she seemed to have that effect on people. Sighing, she began collecting the broken pieces of the plate into a washcloth to throw away. As she decided she would go apologize to him, he reentered the room, a bottle of amber liquid in his hands.

Scotch.

"I don't drink," she told him as she watched him grab two glasses and sloppily pour the liquid into them, spilling some onto the counter.

"It'll cut the edge off, I promise," he told her, and she made a silent vow to talk to him about his drinking habits at a later time. Hastily, he grabbed one of the glasses and downed it in one sip. She would _definitely_ talk to him about his drinking habits later.

But for now, she took the remaining glass with trepidation and downed its contents, the liquor burning her throat like the anger that had been burning inside Jeremy just hours before.


	2. denial

_She was a little girl._

 _She was scared._

He was thirteen when he fell in love for the first time.

She was a girl named Maisie who, in the opinion of Alexandra, lived in the "wrong part" of town and was therefore deemed unworthy of any kindness in her eyes. She was dirty, she was rough, and at twelve-years-old she swore more than any adult Jack had ever met. In the eyes of society, she was trash, and someone from the Finch family should not associate with her.

But Jack didn't care, he _loved_ her. At thirteen years old, he already knew that he was going to marry her. His days with her were fun and exciting, and he knew he wanted to know her for the rest of his life.

 _She was a little girl._

 _She was scared._

She hadn't come to school one day. Jack didn't see her in the school yard, but he couldn't have said he was surprised. You see, her daddy had a reputation for beating on her and her siblings, and some days he forced them to stay home from school so that nobody would notice the black eyes, cut lips, or bruised necks. She never told anyone but Jack. One day she had had enough, had ran away to Finch Landing and her and Jack hid out by the lake near his house, until it got dark and Jack had to come back home. He had offered to invite her in, but she declined.

He doesn't think she went back home that night, though he knew she returned eventually.

He figured she was hiding out at home, waiting for the bruises to heal, or perhaps she ran away again.

No matter what, he thought he would see her eventually.

 _She was a little girl._

 _She was scared._

When he got home from school that day, all three of his older siblings were sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him. He was surprised – Atticus had moved out shortly after his eighteenth birthday to study law, and has lived in town ever since. He wondered if something special had happened. He remembered when Atticus first got elected onto the state legislature the entire family celebrated, and his father even celebrated with them! Ever since their mother's death when Jack was sick, it was almost as if his father ceased to exist to his children.

 _She was a little girl._

 _She was scared._

His siblings gave him weak smiles as he sat at the table with them. Caroline, who was seventeen, nudged his shoulder ever so slightly. "Zandra just made those biscuits you like," she told him. "the ones you can eat with milk and a lot of sugar on top—they're still hot, do you want one?"

He quickly glanced over at Alexandra. Since their mother's death, his oldest sister, who was now twenty, became some sort of substitute mother to him. Quickly, she nodded, indicating that he could have this treat that would potentially spoil his dinner. Excitedly, Jack began to rise.

"I'll get it, sweet," Alexandra said quickly, turning to where the biscuits were cooling off. He watched his eldest sister pour the milk and sugar over the biscuit with care. "I put some extra sugar on it," she told him, placing the bowl in front of him. With joy, he dug in.

 _She was a little girl._

 _She was scared._

His siblings exchanged glances. He noticed that Caroline was biting at the corner of her lip, drawing blood that began to form small bubbles, though she hardly seemed to notice. Atticus cleared his throat.

"Jack," he started, looking at his youngest sibling. Despite the ten years between them, Jack considered his brother his best friend. He looked up to Atticus, nearly worshipped him. Every time his brother was home all he wanted to do was to sit in his presence, to absorb his energy. "Jack, we've got to tell you something," he said.

"Did you win a big case?" Jack asked. "I want to hear all about it!"

Atticus closed his eyes, and gave a weak smile. "It's not about me," he said, finally opening his eyes. "Jack, I don't know how to tell you this."

Alexandra was sitting next to him, looking at him with sad eyes and yet a big, sympathetic smile on her face. It almost scared him. He noticed that Caroline's hands were clasping his shoulders.

"Did something happen to daddy?" He asked, almost embarrassed that he still referred to his father as daddy at thirteen-years-old.

 _She was a little girl._

 _She was scared._

"He's fine," Atticus confirmed, lifting the weight that had settled in Jack's chest. "Jack, it's about Maisie."

"Did her daddy do something to her?" He asked.

"How did you know about that?" Atticus asked.

Jack was beginning to feel nervous. "Well, she told me about it, but she made me promise not to tell anyone, even my family because she said if her daddy found out he would kill her—"

"That's a cruel thing for a person to do," Alexandra started. Her hand was pressed on her chest, her face was flushed. "To tell someone something so serious, and yet tell them not to tell—"

"She was a little girl," Caroline interjected. "She was scared."

 _She was a little girl._

 _She was scared._

Atticus did not need to say any words to get his sisters to quiet down, all he had to do was to give them a look. "Jack," he said, his voice was soft. He put his hand on top of his brothers. "Jack, I'm sorry," he said. "But somethin' happened and her daddy snapped, I don't know why or how to explain it, but he went into a rage and…well, Jack, he killed his whole family."

 _She was a little girl._

 _She was scared._

"I don't believe you," Jack said matter-of-factly. "I just don't, it can't be possible, something that terrible can't be possible."

His older siblings exchanged looks again. Caroline was crying now.

"Baby, I know it's hard and terrible and sad," Caroline said, her hand grasping tighter and tighter onto his shoulder. "But it did happen."

"No, it didn't," he said, grinding his teeth as he shook her arm off of his shoulder. "It couldn't have, I saw her yesterday."

"I know it's hard to believe," Atticus told him, his voice still calm and clear. "But Jack, I need you to listen—"

"It couldn't have happened," he said. "I know her daddy was awful but he wouldn't do this. I didn't tell on her, he had no reason to—"

"It's not on you, Jack," Alexandra said sternly, her face growing pinker and pinker. "It's not your fault."

"I'm afraid that people don't need a reason to do terrible things, Jack," Atticus said solemnly. "I wish with everything in me that you never had to see this side of life, but the world can be especially cruel this way."

Jack still didn't believe it until he saw the caskets go deep within the earth.

 _She was a little girl._

 _She was scared._

He was older the second time he fell in love. After Maisie, he swore that he would never love again out of fear of losing that person, but with _her_ he couldn't help it. She had the sharpest wit but worst sense of humor out of anyone he knew, she snuck cigarettes when she thought no one was paying attention, could not hold down her liquor one bit, and had hair that was like strands of gold.

And she was married to his brother.

Atticus met Jean in Montgomery when he went to the capitol for the state legislature. Her daddy was the Governor of Montgomery and hosted members of the legislature at his home, where Jean apparently drank too much and knocked a lit candle onto the tablecloth – directly where Atticus was sitting.

Jack loved hearing Jean tell that story. Hell, he loved hearing Jean say _anything_. Her voice was light and airy, almost as if she was from some other world. Whenever she told a story, her hands would move in different directions – and she was prone to knock nearby things in all sorts of directions. In Alexandra's world, Jean was _not_ the ideal Finch, but Jack loved her, imperfections and all.

 _She was a little girl._

 _She was scared._

It was a Wednesday night when he received the call. He had been sitting in his dimly lit kitchen, a Dickens novel opened to one side of him, though he was hardly paying attention as he fed his new kitten, Rose Alymer, milk from a bottle. Some would call him strange, but he paid them no attention.

The phones sharp ring made him jump, spilling milk onto the cat. Hissing, she strutted away from him. _Women_ , he thought to himself.

After the fifth ring or so, he finally answered the phone. "Finch," was all he said.

"Sir, you have a call from Maycomb, Alabama," the operator said before Jack accepted the call. It was probably Alexandra, calling him to give him some town gossip.

"Jack," he was correct, it was Alexandra. Her voice, however, was not at its usual harsh tone. It was soft, almost sad.

"Well, isn't it my dearest oldest sister," he greeted her. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I need you to be serious," she said.

"I'm as serious as I can be."

"You need to buy a train ticket home. Tonight. I will pick you up at the station in the morning when you come in."

"Are you alright? Did something happen—"

"Jean died today, Jack." She said. "She had a heart attack."

 _She was a little girl._

 _She was scared._

"That can't be," he said, leaning against the wall. "She's so young, I've only ever treated older patients who have had heart attacks."

"It ran in her family, Jack." Alexandra explained. "She had some sort of hereditary disease—"

"Even then, it couldn't have happened to her," he said. "Why, she's barely even thirty."

"I know it's hard," Alexandra said, each word coming out slowly – was she sad or impatient. "But there are things that can't be explained away with science or medicine, as much as we all would like."

"This is a cruel joke to play on someone," he said, his voice firm. He just couldn't believe it – it was impossible. Why, he had just been home to visit no more than two months ago, and Jean was completely healthy.

A shuddering sigh came from the other line. "Sweet, please just come home."


	3. bargaining

_His treehouse._

 _His books._

 _His own life._

At six years old, Jem didn't quite understand God. In the days that had passed since mama left, never to come home again, he found himself questioning the higher power that he was always taught to worship. Maybe it was his fault mama left, maybe it was his fault because he didn't understand God, didn't take Him seriously.

Maybe if he started taking Him more seriously, He would bring mama back.

 _His treehouse._

 _His books._

 _His own life._

He kneeled on the hardwood floor of his bedroom, much like how he observed Auntie doing during her morning and evening prayers. His head was bent so low it was almost touching the floor.

Maybe, just maybe, if God was watching He would see just how serious Jem was being.

"Sir," he began, his voice shaky, unsure of how to start. Yes, he had been going to church every Sunday of his short life, but he still was not quite sure how to approach this matter. "I have a big favor to ask of you."

 _His treehouse._

 _His books._

 _His own life._

"I really miss my mama," he continued, tears beginning to burn in his eyes. Ever since mama left, he was unable to think about her without crying.

He missed _everything_ about her. He missed her smile, her laugh, the way she moved as though she was walking on air, the way she would dance with him and the baby, the way she made Atticus happy. He would stop at nothing to bring her back, even if meant giving up everything he loved most in this world – his treehouse, his books, even his own life. He'd rather have mama back than have anything at all.

"You see, I would do anythin', _anythin'_ to have her back," his voice was shaking now. He closed his eyes tight, pressing his clasped hands against his forehead, thinking that the intensity and desperation in his request would make God see just how serious Jem was being. "I'll give you anything, I'll do anything to have you bring her home. The preachers who talk at church say that you can perform miracles, so I know that you can do this for me."

 _His treehouse._

 _His books._

 _His own life._

It had to be his fault that mama was gone. It just had to be, there was no other explanation. Earlier on that dreadful day, mama had been feeding them breakfast and reading them books and laughing with him and Scout.

And then she was gone.

There was no other explanation, really. It _had_ to be his fault. The baby was still cute and sweet, there would be no reason why mama would leave because of her. And mama _loved_ Atticus, so there had to be something Jem said, something Jem did, that made her go away.

"Tell mama I'm sorry," his voice was soft now, almost as if the shame that was building up inside of him was rendering him mute. "Tell her I'm sorry for whatever I did. Tell her I'll do whatever I can to get close to you so that she can come back. I'll do anything, I'll go to church every day, I'll pray every hour, I'll give away every book and toy I own. I just want my mama to come home."

"And I'm sorry for whatever I did to _you_ , God," he added quickly. He knew, even at six, that he was a sinner (well, that was what the preachers at church said that everyone was), and maybe if he plead for forgiveness, God would hear him out and accept the boy's apologies. "I promise to be closer to you, I promise to pay attention in church, I promise to _like_ church. I won't swear when nobody notices any more, and I'll be nice to the baby."

 _His treehouse._

 _His books._

 _His own life._

Tears were escaping from his closed eyes, and he pursed his lips together to stop them from quivering. "God, I don't know if you know this, but we _need_ mama," he explained, trying his best to seem rational. "I don't know how we are going to get on without her, I don't care if I never have friends or never do good at school, you can take everything away from me so long as I can have mama back. I know it would make Atticus and Scout awfully happy – I would give you anything to make everyone happy again."

"What if I forget her?" His breaths were short, it was getting harder for him to breathe. "What if I grow up and never remember her again?" A sob threatened to escape from his throat. "Scout's never goin' to remember her," he remarked, making him grow afraid. How was it fair that Scout had so little time with mama? Why was it fair that they all had such little time with mama?

 _His treehouse._

 _His books._

 _His own life._

"I'll do anything," he repeated for what felt like the millionth time. "God, I promise that I would do anything for you if you bring her back. I'm good on my word, you can ask anyone who knows me, so I won't disappoint you for doin' this for me." He was pleading now, hoping that anything he said to this unknown figure would make a difference. Once, he remembered a visiting preacher told the congregation that God listens to every prayer that is sent up to Him, and that in one way or another, He answers them.

That means, at least to Jem, that God _had_ to bring mama back.

 _His treehouse._

 _His books._

 _His own life._

Jem didn't understand it. He didn't understand how a God, who was loving and merciful, could do something so awful. However, he couldn't let God know that – it would risk not getting mama back. Maybe if he worked really hard, just as he did with his school work, God would see that he was trying his best, and maybe then he would bring mama back.

He would do anything, anything at all, even if it meant losing everything else he loved, just to have mama back. Even if he lost everything, so long as he had mama, life would seem much better than it did now.

"Please, please, please, please, please," he said firmly, his voice rising slightly with each word. "Please, God, listen to me. We need mama, and I would do anything, would give you anything, to have her come back. I promise I will be good for the rest of my life, I won't cause trouble, I'll be nice to my sister, I'll respect my Auntie, I'll be _perfect_ if you make mama come back home. Amen."

Hopefully, God heard him.

And hopefully, God would bring mama back.


	4. depression

_Tick._

 _Tock._

 _Tick._

 _Tock._

It takes him approximately twelve seconds each morning to recognize his new reality. Before he even opens his eyes, he remembers the empty spot next to him in bed. Before he even gets out of bed, the too-familiar ache in his heart and nausea in his stomach creeps in.

Her pillow is beginning to not smell like her anymore. The last loaf of bread she baked is still in the kitchen, and he refuses to throw it out even though it's collecting mold. Her book is still settled on the arm of the sofa, preserving the page she left off at. Her sweater is still on the chair in his office, because she complained it was always drafty in there. He kept her half-drank cup of tea in his office after Alexandra tried to pour it out, even though it was beyond cold and probably bad by now. Her shoes are still strewn on the porch, where she kicked them off before sitting on the rocking chair where she would ultimately spend her last moments.

He wanted to preserve her, to keep the parts of her around the house to remind everyone that, in fact, Jean Finch had once lived here.

 _Tick._

 _Tock._

 _Tick._

 _Tock._

Even with his family living around him and neighbors flooding in and out of the house, silence seemed to permeate throughout him, hitting him in his core. Never again would he hear her tell a crude joke. Never again would he hear her laugh. Never again would he hear her singing and playing with their children. Never again would he hear her tell him she loves him. With her passing, his world had gone eternally silent.

 _Tick._

 _Tock._

 _Tick._

 _Tock._

He remembered his father teaching him how to swim when he was younger. He remembered being plunged into the cold water of the lake that surrounded Finch's Landing. He remembered panicking, thrashing, sinking, until finally his head emerged from the water. He remembered gasping, his heart racing, feeling as though the fear would never subside.

That is what losing her feels like. It feels like drowning, it feels as though the air he took for granted was ripped from his lungs.

It felt like dying.

 _Tick._

 _Tock._

 _Tick._

 _Tock._

Atticus Finch was a man of duty. He was a man of dignity. His life's work was spent doing what he knew was right, doing what would help others. He was no stranger to loss or failure, but with each setback in his life, he never lost sight of what was to be done for those around him.

But now was different. Losing _her_ was different.

Each day, he went through the motions. He woke up, spent a few seconds in blissful ignorance before the reality of his life hit him. Then, he went through the motions. He forced himself to eat (though food to him was no longer appealing nor enjoyable). He said good morning to his children. He went to work. He came home. He sat in his office, trying to finish more work. Day in and day out, he repeated the cycle.

But his life's work no longer seemed worth it. Why should he help clients when no one could help him? Why was any of this worth it anymore?

 _Tick._

 _Tock._

 _Tick._

 _Tock._

Each second, the thick silence of his office was penetrated by the sharp _tick, tock_ of the ornate clock that sat on his desk. It was a heavy clock, a miniature version of one that could be seen in the courthouse. It was brass or some other heavy metal. Jean had given it to him at the same time she gave him his pocket watch. She had given him those gifts shortly after Jem was born, with a note that read ' _keep your eye on the time – you've got a family now._ '

While Jean had always been understanding of his work ethic, he knew that she was not happy about how much time he spent away from his family. But, he was a creature of habit. He had always worked long and hard. He never thought he would be married, never thought that he had a wife and children that would need them, and it was hard for him to break those habits. _Work hard now_ , he thought to himself, _there'll always be time to spend with them_.

But there was never enough time. In fact, his time had run out.

 _Tick._

 _Tock._

 _Tick._

 _Tock._

He had been home late that day, even though he told her he would be early. He had a case coming up within the month, but was going to have to spend time in Montgomery for a meeting of the legislature before that. He had obligations to his sate and to his client, and he had to take them seriously. Ignorantly, he believed that Jean would always be there to greet him when he comes home.

"Mama's sleepin' on the porch," Jem, who was now six, remarked as he ran to meet his father at the edge of the sidewalk. "I tried wakin' her up, but she wouldn't move, I think she's playin' a trick on us."

That's when the drowning feeling came, and never left.

 _Tick._

 _Tock._

 _Tick._

 _Tock._

The ticking of the clock was mocking him, taunting him. With each passing second, it was as though the thing was saying _she just wanted more time with you, she wanted you to come home, she just wanted to see her husband – is that too much to ask?_

They were one-year shy of having a decade together – ten whole years that had passed with the speed of light. Now, in her absence, time had slowed. Time was _haunting_ him, serving as a constant reminder that all she wanted was his time. Wanted him to spend time with her, with their children. It wasn't an absurd or demanding request, yet he was too foolish to know that.

And now there was no more time. All that remained were memories and the feeling of drowning.

He pushed the clock off of the desk, letting it fall to pieces.


	5. acceptance

A/N: as you read this, please listen to the song No Hard Feelings by the Avett Brothers (and try not to cry, I dare you).

 _When my body won't hold me anymore_ _  
_ _And it finally lets me free_ _  
_ _Will I be ready?_

-o-o-o-

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

It's been said that people's lives flash before a person's eyes before they die. It's also been said that people have an out of body experience when they die. Yet another source claims that death is just like sleeping. Or that death is like seeing a light. Or that, in death, one will meet God.

But to Jean, it felt like falling down an endless dark tunnel.

Until it abruptly stopped.

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

That day had started normally. She woke up, got dressed, saw Atticus off to work and Jem to school. But, when she went to wake Jean Louise up (the blessed girl was the only member of the Finch family who knew how to sleep past 7 am), she noticed something was off. Not wrong. Just _off._

Her knees shook as she walked and her heart beat quickly, as though a surge of anxiety was rushing through her. _Too much coffee_ , she decided quickly, brushing it off. She was already on her fourth cup of the morning (she couldn't help it, she loved the stuff), and she probably consumed it too quickly.

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

She found herself struggling to pick her youngest child up. The two-year-old felt weighted down, far heavier than her twenty-five pounds. Even removing the girl from her crib made Jean lose her breath. The child giggled, her small palms clasping her mother's face, thinking it was a joke.

So, Jean pretended it was.

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

By the time Jean settled her namesake in her high chair for breakfast, she was panting. Knowing Cal would suspect something was wrong, Jean held her breath in an attempt to stifle the sound of her breathing, feeling her heart pound furiously within her chest.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Jean exhaled loudly, coughing as her lungs struggled to take in air they were deprived.

But after a few minutes, her breathing did not calm. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her knees shaking so badly she thought she would collapse. _Too much coffee_ , she continued to think. _It must be stronger than usual._

When she was finally able to focus on something else, she noticed Cal looking at her, her eyes wide with concern. Jean smiled, though perhaps it was a grimace, "I think I'm comin' down with a cold or somethin'," she said quickly. "My chest is mighty congested."

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

Her day progressed as it usually would. She played with Jean Louise on the living room floor, imitating various animals and laughing as her daughter imitated her. She stuck her daughter in her high chair as she prepared biscuits for the rest of the week and polished the dining room furniture. Finally, when Jean Louise was no longer content with sitting still and started to get restless, Jean collected her daughter with difficulty and rocked her until Jean Louise's big brown eyes could hardly stay open.

All the while, her shaking knees and racing heart persisted.

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

Jean thought that, perhaps with the baby down and a moment to sit still, she would begin to feel better. She kicked her house shoes off and laid on the stiff sofa that had been a gift from Alexandra, her eyes shut, trying to calm the beating of her heart.

But it didn't work.

She tried to think to herself – was there something that she should be worrying about? Jean Louise seemed fine. Jem was thriving in school. Cal seemed content. Everything was fine in her personal sphere. She decided it had to be because Atticus not only had a big case coming up, but he would also be going to Montgomery soon for a full week.

Jean couldn't help it – Atticus spending so much time away from her and the children made her nervous. It brought her back to her childhood. After her mother's death when she was five, it was just her, her father and her brother. But, if she really thought about it, it was just her and her brother. Her father was a man devoted to his work and little else, spending long hours in his office or away conducting business. His absence made her anxious, and because of that, the anxiety transferred to Atticus whenever _he_ was absent.

Though, it wasn't as though he was absent _all_ of the time. She really was foolish for comparing Atticus to her father, but she supposed it was an inevitable consequence of a lonely childhood.

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

She finally determined that her shakiness and restlessness was simply a result of her husband being so busy. It was hard on him, too, and although she knew he'd never admit it, she knew that Atticus' responsibilities took their toll on him. He was a man who cared so much about his community and his clients that he nearly drove himself sick to make sure he did everything in his power to work for their interest. His worries were merely transferring onto her, she decided, and once these next few weeks were over, everything would be normal again.

"Mama?"

Jean nearly jumped out of her skin, setting her heart beating faster and faster. Opening her eyes, she noticed Jem standing over her, his face close to hers. Her surprise startled him, and she could see his eyes growing wider. Quickly, she cupped his face in her hands. "You just surprised me," she told him, her voice shaking. "I was just restin' my eyes."

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

Each afternoon played out the same way once Jem came home from school. Jem would sit and do his homework while Scout played, and Jean would help with dinner until it was time for Atticus to come home. Now that Jem was old enough to go to school, he was given permission to meet Atticus at the end of the block and walk him home, all while Jean waited on the porch for them.

Today was a little nervous. An hour before Atticus was set to come home, the walls began to close in on Jean, and she found herself growing flushed as she felt a twinge in her chest. "I'm gonna get some air, Cal," she said mindlessly, putting the piece of linen down without folding it, and walking outside.

Sitting on her usual rocking chair, Jean rubbed at her chest, her breathing growing unsteady.

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

Jean thought all death look the same. It was some prolonged illness that slowly consumed a person until it finally decided to claim a person's life. Starting from a young age, Jean and her brother knew mama's heart was sick, and that she wouldn't be around for long. From the time she was a young child, Jean knew all too well about death and how it physically manifested itself.

Despite the fact that Jean was only five when her mama died, she knew that her impending death angered her mother. _I haven't had enough time_ , she heard mama crying to nurses and friends. _It isn't fair_.

Her mother barely wanted to see Jean and her brother as her disease took over. To Jean's mother, it wasn't fair that her children would be able to live full lives when hers was cut so short. Her mother grew resentful towards her father, jealous that it was _her_ , and not him that was dying.

Jean remembered being little, pressing her ear up against the bedroom door, hearing her mama crying and begging to God or to some higher power, pleading for her life.

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

Jean she thought she was safe. She thought that since she wasn't physically ill for a long time like her mother was, then the heart disease had skipped over her.

But she didn't realize she was wrong before it was too late.

As the twinge in her chest intensified into pain, she attempted to call out. As she felt her body no longer able to hold herself in her chair, she attempted to cry for help.

But nothing came.

Instead, she fell.

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

 _Falling._

As she fell and the world grew dark around her, plummeting her in what felt like a long, endless tunnel, she did not feel the anger and despair that her mother had before her. As the world rushed past her, she knew what was coming was inevitable, and anger wasn't the last feeling she wanted to experience.

While it may not be fair that she would have to leave the life she loved behind – to leave Atticus and her children and the life she built for herself – she wasn't angry, she wasn't jealous, she wasn't upset.

She was at peace. She welcomed what was to come with open arms.

And then, the world stopped.


End file.
